2012-11-22 Starting New Traditions
Thanksgiving has always been one of those holidays that never truly got celebrated by Rogue, it being one of those traditions that never really got observed and instead treated like every other day. It is a fact she has spent the past few days dwelling on which resulted in her feeling vaguely depressed and in the need of company. A call is made to Kwabena who is invited to a 'traditional' Thanksgiving dinner at a Times Square diner, that being where she is now, standing outside while waiting for her dinner companion's arrival. Kwabena had come close to declining, in point of fact. It wasn't that the invitation wasn't appreciated, but there were so many things on his mind, and... frankly, he felt awkward at having her invite him. Regardless, his curiosity about this strange American holiday won out, and he agreed. As he rides his motorcycle into Times Square, he seems to be the epitome of New York Chic - designer jeans (purchased at a sample sale for a 500 discount), a black sweater, and black leather riding jacket. Pulling through the traffic and up toward the diner, he scours the area for a parking space, and recognizes one spot down a side alley. With a roar of his engines, he cuts down the alley and parks the bike, before coming about to meet Rogue. Rogue has actually made a little effort in dressing nicely herself, her clothing nowhere near designer made - it is more like bargain basement sale at 75% off - but the dress is pretty enough and makes her feel some what better about herself by wearing it. But despite the boost to her self-esteem she looks nervous and by the time he arrives she's gotten herself worked up into quite a dither. "Ah... oh wow," she murmurs once he comes into view, his own attire making her look down at herself with a wrinkle to her nose. Here's for hoping he won't be embarrassed to be seen with her. Clearing her throat, she meets Kwa halfway, her face flushed a pretty shade of pink. "Ah'm sorry for such short notice," she apologizes, Rogue smiling. "Ah didn't think of it until jus' awhile ago. Ah promise Ah don't do this often." Far be it for Kwabena to admit that he's discovered the ultimate NYC version of cheating... in sample sales. Sure, these designer jeans originally ran $1,500, but he bought them for a measly $15! Just because they were 'last season's style' meant that the designers wanted rid of them, as quickly as possible. Regardless, it is with a certain confidence that he meets Rogue, which is in fact a shield to hide his own fear and distrust. "There are no need for apology," he answers, proving that his English is still far from perfect. "I am lucky to have nothing happening today." He smiles at the young lady, himself not noticing the bargain basement dress she wears to be anything out of sorts, for he's just as likely to shop at the thrift store as he is to peruse the elusive sample sales. He hesitantly reaches out and makes to give the girl a hug. That's what one does, right? In these situations? "You, ah, look nice," he offers, the awkwardness in his voice slipping through in spite of his best efforts to keep it hidden. The hug is accepted and returned although Rogue is very obviously careful in how she does so. There is no leaning away or anything like that but she's very careful with how she positions herself for the embrace. Once she's sure she won't accidentally touch him the hug is warm. Friendly. "Thanks," she says in response to the compliment. "And so do you. Ya clean up nicely." She smiles when she says that, the warmth of which reaches her eyes. Greetings complete, she leads him towards the door, her hand against his back as she does. "Ah have to warn ya. Ah'm thinkin' about makin' this a tradition. So ya jus' might be getting a yearly invite." Assuming they're still in contact then, of course. The door is opened by a couple going out of the restaurant and held for them, the others smiling as well. For his part, Kwabena fails to notice her intent upon making sure their skin does not make contact. "I've learned to take a shower, once or twice," he laughs, then nods his head and smiles as she leads him toward the diner. "Do not many American families consider this a tradition already?" he asks. "Then again, you and I do not have families, do we?" He nods his head with thanks as the couple hold the door for them, then enters and looks around curiously. "What is this place, Rogue?" For it being a holiday it's fairly busy with the majority of those here to eat being people without families to celebrate with or people who had to work, missing out on family dinners as a result. Thankfully they are seated quickly at a booth which gives them a view of Times Square that is pretty breath taking thanks to the lights that illuminate this part of the city. "This is a diner," Rogue starts to explain as she sits down. "They were a dime a dozen during the early 20th Century and become popular." Kwa is looked at a little more closely once she's comfortable, her eyes eventually holding to his. "I used to have a family," she finally admits, "but I left home when I was a girl." She had an 'adopted family' since then but that's something best left uncommented upon. "You have no one here?" "Funny that a diner would be open on what is considered a holiday," notes Kwabena. It's just another sign that, for whatever reason, the normally resourceful African has little to no clue about American holidays and the tradition of an American family. Regardless, Kwabena sits where they are directed, and casts his eyes out toward Times Square with a hint of mirth. However, he's quickly drawn from what ever thought was forming, meeting Rogue's eyes as she opens herself up a bit. That look of mirth fades in favor of something far more serious when she questions him. "I, ah, well, no." He shakes his head. He's quick to clarify, "I have some few friends here, but my family is all back home, in Ghana." He sighs lightly, though it is a sigh that is more of contempt rather than regret. "I have not seen my family in a very long time." Something about his tone suggests that he wouldn't have it any other way. The server would normally leave menus but Rogue already knows what they'll have, that being two 'Thanksgiving's Specials'. "And Ah'll have a sweet tea," she adds, "and whatever mah friend'd like to drink." The waitress turns to Kwabena, smiling as she waits for his drink order before heading off to get their ticket in and their drinks. "Usually people who don't have plans or family to celebrate with will cover the holiday shifts so those who do can be with friends and loved one," she explains gently. His tone when his own family is mentioned is caught and she looks down, feeling bad for bringing up what she can only assume are bad memories. Their drinks are brought swiftly and set before them and then the server is off, going to take care of other customers. "Ah hope you like this," Rogue eventually says, sounding a bit subdued. The nerves are back, Rogue worried that Kwa will hate the food and he'll resent her for introducing her to this whole... thing. With an odd look, Kwabena watches as Rogue takes the reins. He's... not exactly used to being 'cared for', so to speak. Quizzically, he turns his head to the waitress and says, "Make that two of the 'sweet tea'." With a look of attentiveness and appreciation, Kwabena nods while working to discern these strange American cultures. "In Ghana, we-" he starts to say, but is abruptly cut off when she looks down in guilt. "Hey, you don't have to do that," he explains. "It was a -long- time ago. That part of my life is over. I have moved on." His stalwart expression might lend a bit more to the mystery of why he spoke so contemptuously of his family. Perhaps they deserved his leave, and perhaps he had left his regrets at Immigration Control. Reaching for the tea, the Ghanaian samples it. At first, he seems utterly taken by surprise, his face scrunching up into a look that can't quite be discerned as pleasant surprise or disgust. "Oh my God!" he exclaims. "It is -very- sweet!" He samples it again, then begins to grin. "I... think I like it!" The nervousness is gone as her newly-made friend speaks, Rogue's concern ebbing swiftly as she listens to him explain his situation. "Ah had left mah family as well," she utters, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. "Not that my family was bad," she is quick to add as she doesn't want to give Kwabena the wrong idea about the people she left behind. "They loved me very much. But it was for the best that Ah left when Ah did." A shoulder is lifted and her smile returns. When the sweetness of the tea is commented upon she can't help but to laugh, the sound rich and friendly. "You think that's sweet? Ah'll have to make some good ol' Southern sweet tea for ya someday. That stuff is so sweet it'll knock yer socks off." While Rogue speaks of her family, and sheds more light on the particulars surrounding her departure, there's a differential in the way Kwabena acknowledges. The nod of his head is one of acknowledgment, but not one of agreement, as if to say that his departure went quite differently. When lighter subjects are presented, Kwabena joins his dinner partner in laughter, then leans forward and points a finger across the table at her. "I would make you -tiger meat-," he mock whispers. "No jokes. Tiger meat is the -sweetest- of meats, and I would hunt one for you -myself-!" It sounds as if hunting tigers is not something entirely unfamiliar to him. Leaning back, the African grins toothily. "Then we would see who's socks would be knocked off." There's always a peculiar note to his voice when he uses those strange, American phrases. Tiger meat? She doesn't say it but she finds it very... she doesn't think he's lying but it's still hard to believe. Hunting of big game like that always made her think of the books about Tarzan where people would go traipsing through the jungle, looking for exotic animals to hang on their walls as trophies which lends a surreal feeling to the idea that people actually /do/ hunt animals like that. And apparently not just for sport. "Ya actually eat tiger?" She ponders that only to wind up curious but whatever questions she might have are forgotten as soon as their food is brought to them. Their plates are positively filled with food - roast turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce and more - all of which smells heavenly. Ah. Yes. Rogue is giving herself a little pat on the back now, proverbially. Maybe this idea of hers won't tank after all. "What's it like, huntin' tiger," she asks before taking up her fork. "Of course we do!" answers Kwabena. He may loathe his home village, but his Ghanaian heritage is very dear to him. "But only twice each year, once in the spring time for the celebration of the mating, and one in the fall, for the celebration of harvest. You see, the celebration of the mating is to honor the creatures of the wild, that they be fruitful with their families." Then he laughs heartily and with a certain deep bravado. "So that we can be fruitful with our dinner plates." And, as if on cue, their own dinner plates arrive. Kwabena's eyes go a bit wide with surprise. Then, his appetite strike, and he looks across the table to meet Rogue's eyes with one of absolute decadence. "This is why you call it Thanksgiving?" he asks, while lifting a fork. "I think I understand now." He takes a moment to dig in, choosing the turkey first. Of course, he has manners. He's no jackal! "Mmm, this is a good meal," he acknowledges, before setting his fork down to answer her. "Hunting tiger is something every man does when he comes of age in Ghana," he explains, quietly. "But mine was a bit different. I did not use a spear or a gun. I used my bare hands." He lifts his hands, flexing them into fists for a moment. "But don't let that impress you too much. I have a bit of an advantage against, ah, certain dangers." "Sounds like tradition is just as important where yer from as it is here," Rogue comments, that said as she tries to spear a cranberry with a fork. It rolls away from the tines when she tries, however, that getting her to giggle a bit. "It must be a sight to behold. Huntin' tiger, Ah mean. Ain't something one sees often..." Her fork finally holds the errant berry trapped, the tines able to pierce the skin after a little more work on her part and the tart fruit is enjoyed before she continues to speak. "Thanksgiving isn't jus' about the food," she says while motioning to her plate, the fork in hand used to gesture at everything. "It started as a way for the first settlers here to thank God for a new chance at life. There was food but..." A bit of motion outside catches Rogue's eye and she turns to look, the object of her attention being a family that numbers in five with the mother and father along with two boys and a girl. "Ah forget that Ah do got a lot to be thankful for. Ah got my health and mah friends. Ah shouldn't let mahself forget." "Very important," Kwabena agrees. "And so is God. We are -all- thankful for all of the blessings of the Lord in Ghana." He smiles mirthfully, for there is such an irony in the way he speaks about religion. He'd left God a long time ago, but now that his life has changed for the better, he's secretly begun to question whether God, in His efforts to evolve humanity, has not been a part of that. After shoveling a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, and swallowing, Kwabena motions toward Rogue with his fork. "Health and friendship is something to be very thankful for," he agrees. "It's too easy to let it all go to waste. Believe me, I would know." Moving to deflect the subject from himself, however, he studies the way she uses her utensils, noticing that she still wears her opera gloves inside. Curiosity strikes him, and he looks up toward her, seeking eye contact again. "There's a reason you wear them, isn't there." He phrases it like a statement, rather than a question. Relgion, God and blessings are not usually subjects she finds comfortable in talking about and, if truth be told, it rather discomforts her to do so now. But today is a good day to think about the topics as well as think on them, especially the latter as a reminder that things could always be worse. Rogue takes turns eating and talking, doing the former while listening, and soon at least a good quarter of her food is gone in what feels like very little time at all. "Hmm. Yer right. And sadly people tend to forget that such should not be taken granted for..." Shaking her head, Rogue laughs and whispers quietly, "But even in the most dire of times, we all have things to be thankful for. We jus' need to look a little harder, Ah suppose," the woman blushing by the time it is said. When asked about her gloves Rogue looks down at her arms, her brow knitted. She's gotten used to wearing them so much that she doesn't even think about them anymore. A possible answer is considered as she's not exactly sure how to explain why she does without outing herself, something she's not quite yet ready to do. Lies, half-truths and little white fibs are all ran though in her head in a span of a few seconds and are as quickly dismissed. Might as well tell as much of the truth as she can now and hope Kwabena will be alright with waiting for the rest. "Bad things happen when Ah touch people," she whispers, looking at him. There's no verbal response to Rogue's deep understanding about life, thankfulness, and hard times. Only months ago, Kwabena was on a self-destructive path toward death. He wasn't looking for things in that dark place, for he didn't even care. He owed it to circumstance and perhaps the guidance of others that he's no longer on that path, but he was quite well aware that he need only stray an inch to fall back onto that path. A certain darkness comes about him as he considers this, but it's not without an attentiveness and listening ear while he eats his dinner. Then, he pauses in his meal, and takes a sip of his sweet tea to clear his palette before studying the girl across from him. "What do you mean?" he asks, quietly, seeking clarity. "Have you... not had luck with friendships, or is it something more?" There had been hints, suggestions, following his almost flippant revelation of his mutant nature to her the last time they had met. Surely, she must simply be talking about her experiences, not something similar to his mutation. Or is he wrong? "This really ain't the place to talk about this. But once we find somewhere more... private Ah promise Ah'll tell ya, Kwabena." Not being able to be forth coming with who she is leaves a bad taste in Rogue's mouth but care has to be taken to make sure the fact that she is a mutant doesn't fall upon the wrong ears. Trying to smile in effort to soften any possible sting her refusal to speak further might bring, she reaches out to touch him gently on a hand if allowed. "Jus' promise me that you won't freak out once Ah do." Brow furrowed, Kwabena considers for a moment the many mysteries her response could mean. Her being a mutant is merely one of the many possibilities, so he decides to let that go for now. Instead, he nods his head in a slow manner, and promises. "Believe me, I won't freak out." He glances down to his hand, considering something... then quietly letting it go. He would show her his own oddity at the right time. "I have my own secrets," he adds, as if to reassure her. Then, he reaches for his tea, smiling in an effort to ease the tension that has befallen both, before taking a good sip. "I find it hard to imagine a beverage sweeter than -this-!" Kwabena is very good at moving from subject matter to subject matter which makes Rogue feel better immediately as it gives her zero time to dwell on the 'bad' in her life. "Ah'll invite ya over for dinner sometime soon," she says with a light laugh. "And Ah'll make ya a large jug -" Yes, a jug, not a pitcher or glass, "- of the tea Ah used to drink as a child." She pats him on the arm before going back to eating. Kwabena's eyes go wide. "A whole jug?" He shakes his head in awe. "I do not want to develop the diabetes!" he jokes, then stabs again at his turkey, eyeing it with pleasure. "This is a very good meal, thank you for calling me," he offers. Then, they settle in to discuss, oh, the most random of things, from music to recent news, even the books that each of them had rented that one day at the library. But for now, they make to avoid those touchy subjects, which are best suited for privacy. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs